An Imperfect Storm
by Aussiegirl41
Summary: It was a dark and stormy Christmas night, but certainly not the type she was used to... Written for the CC/Niles advent calendar. You can find it here: www. laurakaylane. com / Kalender2015/ adventskalender . html


**Thanks bugsfic for betaing/assisting with my Americanisms (Don't worry, there's more than a little bit of Aussie in it though!) I have used a little poetic licence here and there regarding the storm. Hope you enjoy! Merry Christmas!**

It was a dark and stormy Christmas night, but certainly not the type she was used to at this time of the year.

A hurricane, or cyclone as these peasants insisted on calling it, was lashing along the Australian coast north of Port Douglas, the shanty town Maxwell had decided they'd visit this festive season.

Her companion had probably never encountered such a storm either, she guessed. She squinted across the room. He was basically a dark lump, melded into what she knew was a tackily patterned and itchy couch. They hadn't spoken for going on the better part of an hour, when the electricity had gone off.

She'd promptly collected the flashlight the resort staff had provided them with, thinking that would be the normal thing to do in the dark. Only Niles had gotten all pissy on her.

"We need to save the batteries! This isn't an emergency!" he ranted, grabbing for the flashlight.

"You don't class a hurricane as an emergency?" she asked shrilly, tugging the flashlight protectively toward her.

"If we need to go outside, that's an emergency," he countered, flapping his hands in an attempt to wrestle the gadget away.

She was still gripping the base of the light though. She stepped closer. The plan had been to plant her feet firmly to get traction and gain control. At that exact moment, however, he gave one almighty yank and she ended up sprawled against him.

The storm's noise diminished. Their breathing became the only thing audible. She inhaled the enticing scent of his cologne, the one he'd not-so-secretly bought on the company's expense account. She licked her lips, waiting for him to follow suit. Then, the radio he'd insisted on switching on earlier (no worries about running its batteries low apparently) screeched with some sort of warning, alerting the listeners to where the epicenter of the hurricane was located.

"What a racket," she grumbled, disentangling herself from his embrace and pushing against his shoulders to rid herself of his proximity. "As if we're any wiser with their rambling about degrees longitude and degrees latitude."

That's when they'd retreated to their respective corners. He'd stomped over to the couch, and she'd felt her way across the living area to plop into one of the kitchen chairs.

And now, the storm still raged on outside. The power hadn't been reinstated and the lack of air conditioning was starting to take its toll. It wasn't snow that was glistening, it was her skin.

"This is definitely not a winter wonderland," she said aloud, weary of the stifling silence as well as the oppressive humidity. She reminded herself she could care less about his opinion and made a definite decision. "I'm going to strip," she announced.

"Ho, ho, ho."

Ignoring his obviously insult-laden response, she hitched up her skirt, rolling it to its waist to make it into a mini that only just covered her panties. Next, she dragged off her shirt. Her bra was black and lacy, but it fit perfectly and hid her breasts' finer details should Niles suddenly have super vision that allowed him to see such specifics from across the room.

"You're not showing me anything a thousand other men haven't already seen," he taunted.

"I don't care at this point," she informed him haughtily. "I've never been so desperate for anything than I am at the moment for air conditioning. Or a ceiling fan even." Actually, fresh air alone would be a dream at the moment. She wasn't usually claustrophobic, but not being able to open the windows in 100 degree heat was frustrating.

"Oh, I'm sure you've been much more desperate once or twice."

"Well, _obviously_ you're doing okay. You'll never be hot." She let out a short sharp bark of laughter at her own joke.

Her victory was short lived. "Just as long as you don't take your offensive perspiration to heart as something to be ashamed of. Remember, it's common for women of an advanced age to get hot flashes."

Why did he always have a comeback ready, she wondered, pouting petulantly out the front window. Like all the others it had been decorated in masking tape by the resort staff. How the hell they thought a tiny scrap of tape could prevent a window from shattering in this wind, she had no idea.

"Are you sure the phones are dead?" she whined. "We could call staff in this so-called five star resort and find out when they plan on restoring the power."

"Dead as the roses your last date sent. Are you volunteering to go out in this to start some sort of backup generator?"

"It's only rain." She was lying through her teeth of course. The pelting sound like a volley of bullets on the roof reminded her it was not merely rain in the New York sense. It also seemed to be an indication that the weather was nowhere near clearing.

"And wind," Niles noted dryly as something crashed in the distance. "You surprise me though," he went on, thankfully distracting her from wondering further what it was that had fallen over in the gale,"I thought you'd be screaming at the first spot of rain."

"Really, Niles," she huffed. "Babcock women are built to withstand bigger blows than this. And it will all be worth it if this idiot Australian actor signs the contract."

"Yes, I suppose this isn't the first time you've had to suffer through a blow to sign an actor."

She screwed up her nose and poked out her tongue. She might as well take advantage of the darkness.

"I can't believe Maxwell dragged us to this godforsaken place."

"For once, I agree with you," he murmured surprisingly. "Or at least at this time of the year. Even without this weather, the ocean is out of bounds. Crocodiles, jellyfish… We should have visited around June, July. When talking to Blue about the weather, he told me the hurricane season ends about March."

"Blue?"

"The red-haired gentleman from the resort's reception."

"What sort of name is Blue for a redhead?"

"Well I assume his birth name is something else, and it's a nickname that stuck, _C.C_."

"This country…" It was all so backward, so… Casual! She knew the man Niles was talking about and he even had Blue printed on his name badge! Hardly professional. And… "What sort of town has no underground power?"

"Most American ones," he reminded her smoothly.

"I blame that idiot, Roger, and his idiot brother." After all, it was Clinton's visit that raised the status of this mildly pretty town to a trendy playground of the rich and famous.

"You're not going to blame me? Or Nanny Fine?" Niles wondered.

"Nanny Fine is certainly full of enough hot air to cause a hurricane," she said with a deep laugh at her own wit once more. But she should be fair… "I'm not blaming her for the storm. Being stuck with you, however, is her fault. I should have known she'd connive her way into Maxwell's bungalow. I can't understand why he let her, of all people, in charge of the sleeping arrangements."

"Yes… It must have been difficult for him," he agreed, silky sarcasm dripping from each word. "To find out that he has to share with a woman he's attracted to physically." Her mouth twisted as he went on: "One who his children clearly adore and will trust when they need calming in such an unusual and stressful situation. Or…"

She held her breath, waiting for the weight of his insult to slump her shoulders, but when it came, it was much milder than she'd expected. "Or one who forgets his children's names most of the time and sets their anxieties off when they're merely in the same room."

"Maxwell's so odd sometimes," she mused aloud. "What parent turns a business trip into a vacation with their children? And even shares a room with them?" she asked, genuinely confused. Mommy or Daddy would have never…

Niles again surprised her by making absolutely no comment on this confession. Instead he just made some sort of noise at the back of his throat before turning on the flashlight.

In the muted light she could see he'd removed some of his clothes too. He was now only wearing a plain white tanktop and a pair of white boxers. It reminded her of the time she'd caught him dancing around the house. She gulped, remembering just how that incident had panned out…

Angry at herself for instantly recalling how he'd gone about shutting her up that day, she ground out, "Is this an emergency?"

Not answering, he swept past the kitchen and toward the back door.

"Where are you going?" she asked, more than slightly panicked.

"Don't tell me you feel safer with me in the room." His voice echoed out from the laundry area.

She realized he wasn't sorting the whites from the colors when she heard the clink of a bottle. He had a secret stash of booze?

"What was that?" she called, hopeful, her mouth watering desperately at the thought of something alcoholic to bolster her confidence.

"Rum," he confirmed as he returned to the room, reading a bottle's label. "Bundaberg dark rum. Local drop that will put hair on my chest apparently."

His chest…She would not think about the way his chest looked in that stark white tank top. Or would she imagine how her nails could scrape down his chest with just the right strength to make him whimper...

"Do you want hair on your chest?" she squeaked out, really just for something to say.

"Do you want me to?" he countered immediately, his voice lazily suggestive and oh so damn sexy. How did he do that? He was such an arrogant little bastard.

"I want a damn drink. How long are you going to take to pour the thing?" she snapped.

He flipped the flashlight so it shone toward the ceiling and placed it on the counter. "Who said I was pouring you one?" he asked, even as he set two tumblers down.

"It's your job," she snapped. "You're a butler. Butle."

Slowly, insolently, he poured a drink before lifting it to his nose and sniffing experimentally. Then, even more slowly, he waved the glass beneath her nose, ensuring she caught a sharp whiff of the bittersweet liquid.

"I'll butle if you beg," he promised softly before taking a sip of the rum.

Her pulse quickened. Again, it was nothing to do with the hurricane.

Calmly he dipped his finger into the rum. Drawing it out, he licked its tip. And she was the one whimpering.

"Beg," he demanded, moistening his finger with the alcohol again before drawing it out to coat his mouth with it, and running his finger back and forth over his bottom lip teasingly a few times for good measure.

"No." Dammit, her fingers itched with the desire to slap that superior expression off his face. It was nothing compared to the desire to hold his head still while she licked the liquid from his lips, however.

He came closer. She backed into the table. He lowered his head until those doused lips hovered next to her ear. "Beg."

He straightened and held her gaze after making his sadistic suggestion. She shook her head, unable to trust opening her mouth again should she scream.

Trapped between him and the solid piece of furniture, she could only watch, hypnotized, as he dipped his finger into the rum again. He spun it around like he would when stirring sugar into his tea before he reached out and traced her lips, wetting them like he had wet his a moment ago.

She trembled, ridiculously turned on by his masochistic behavior.

"Beg," he repeated.

She shook her head furiously and flicked out her tongue to retrieve the alcohol from her lips, catching and licking at his finger in the process. She saw his gaze settle on her actions. She had little chance to revel in the triumphant moment, however, as he was moving away again, carefully placing the bottle, his full glass, and her empty one onto the counter behind him, next to the flashlight.

She steeled herself when he turned and edged closer again until their chests were just touching. He glanced down at her bra, causing her nipples to tighten uncomfortably against the lace, then back up to her mouth, where her bottom lip was now wedged so firmly between her teeth she could taste blood.

"Miss Babcock…" With a grunt he lifted her onto the table. Without thinking, she spread herself wide. She heard the skirt's seams tear, but could care less at that moment. "Have I not whet your appetite enough for you to beg?" he murmured as he swaggered between her legs and the room she'd subconsciously made.

"If you insist that I beg you'll never get to know just how wet I am," she replied crudely. Again, she could care less at that moment. It's what he expected anyway. She leaned back, bent her knees. "Why not have a good long look at what you'll be missing by making demands."

"Floozy," he rasped as he closed the gap between their mouths.

They kissed, open-mouthed with tongues and teeth clashing, tinged with the tangy taste of blood and rum. They kissed with such force she thought they could give the hurricane a run for its money. They kissed, knowing it was wrong and tawdry, but oh so satisfying.

"One drink and you're anybody's," he hissed when they finally parted.

"I've been offered better service at a drive thru," she bit back.

Raising one eyebrow, he turned and reached out to retrieve his glass once more. Again he dipped his finger into the liquid, but this time he added his thumb into the mix. Then, he was pinching her nipple through the lacy material of her bra with those two digits. She gasped in pseudo outrage.

Soon her breasts were pushed out of the top of their constraint. He took another gulp of the rum and immediately dived onto her other nipple with the mouthful of liquid. He lapped at it as it ran down the side of her breast; nuzzled beneath her arm, suckled greedily as it pooled on the inside of her elbow.

"Sounds like you're enjoying the service."

She blinked. What sort of noises had she been making?

"I hate you so much," she growled, even as she grabbed a clump of his hair and held him against her breast. Not disappointing, he turned his attention fully to her breasts again. She writhed in ecstasy. At one stage she even indulged by burrowing beneath his top and digging her nails into the tender skin of his back.

"That's it, let yourself go."

She pushed him off and scampered back a little at his comment. "What?" That sounded like some sort of New Age trash. Not the Niles she knew and… Wanted.

"Moan and groan as much as you want," he was telling her. "You could even beg."

Even though he was saying that last word differently this time, almost like an endearment, she still took offense.

"I will not!" she ranted, snapping her legs together peevishly.

"There's no need to be quiet. No one will hear you over the storm."

"You'll hear me." She nearly added a vulnerable 'I'll hear me' but swallowed it down just in time.

Annoyingly, he just smiled. Prying her knees apart, he reached between them, ran one finger along the material of her panties. "Your loss," he noted before turning, snatching up the flashlight, and stalking off toward the bedroom area of the bungalow.

She sat there. Ridiculously exposed, legs spread like a hooker he often accused her of being, and frustrated beyond belief. She'd been so close to her first orgasm brought about by something other than her own hand in literally years. He was leaving her high and dry because she didn't want to moan as loud as a hurricane's wind?

"I knew it!"

She frowned at the words he'd just called out, uncomprehending.

The beam of the flashlight bounced around the kitchen area.

"Extra large?" he was saying. "You bought this with me in mind obviously."

A crinkle of wrapping brought her out of her shock. "You went through my things?"

He dismissed her anxiety with a wave of his hand. "I've gone through your things many a time."

Any indignity she might have displayed disappeared as he lowered his boxers. Extra large was not ambitious, she thought faintly. She watched in utter awe as he rolled on the condom he'd rifled from her purse.

She would not allow herself one moment of time brooding over the idea that yes, she might have just packed the protection with this in mind. Nor would she think for any length of time of how weakly she'd fought Nanny Fine over the designated accommodation arrangements. How could she have planned on this happening all along? It was Maxwell she loved, wasn't it?

"Now, where were we?" he asked, interrupting her confused thoughts. "Yes, begging, moaning, and groaning," he said, a promise almost.

He dragged her panties off in an undignified manner, catching them on various parts of her body several times before growlingly tossing them away.

Then, he stopped. "Maybe I should remember I'm not the only one who's gone through your things many a time." He grabbed his glass and splashed a little of the rum across her navel. "Alcohol has excellent disinfectant qualities," he remarked, smearing it roughly around. His mouth quickly followed the trail of liquid. Then, proving he wasn't too worried about her previous lovers, his tongue probed deeper until he was lapping furiously at her clit.

She fell back, lifting her hips toward his ever-seeking mouth eagerly and came, hard and fast, and so so wonderfully.

Finally, after what felt like hours but she knew in reality would have been merely seconds, she recovered enough to tilt her head up and look at him.

"You big beautiful bitch," he murmured before he slid into her. Perversely, of course, he fit just right.

Why this man, she wondered for the millionth time as he moved in and out of her with an ever increasing tempo.

At one stage he pulled her up, so that they were embraced, almost romantically she thought for one brief staggering moment before she realized the angle gave him perfect access to her breasts again.

"Your height deficiency is finally an advantage," she snarked, earning her a sharp nip of his teeth.

"Not all size is proportionate."

True, she thought, as his size reached every part of her with each perfect thrust.

"Miss Babcock," he muttered vaguely against her throat.

"Yes?" she wondered, just as vague. She wasn't really interested in a deep discussion. After all, he was good for one thing and one thing only.

"Yes, just there, yes." He was almost rambling now, so she decided to block out everything he was saying and just concentrate on the glorious momentum he was building.

She felt herself coming again. A second time with a man. Unheard of… But… She took his earlier advice and let herself go, pushing up against him hard. She shuddered with pure pleasure. Always such a brief sensation, but this time it stretched out enough for her to voice her approval.

"I knew you could do it," he murmured before he greedily jerked frantically into her with a groan.

The only sound that followed was their labored breaths.

Finally, he spoke first. "Listen," he rasped.

She rolled her eyes. "What now?"

"The storm."

She stared over his shoulder, and listened. As she'd thought a moment ago, the only noise was their labored breaths.

Pushing him off inelegantly, she grabbed the flashlight, and headed for the front door, leaving him in the dark without a backward glance. At the last minute she remembered she was naked, grabbed one of the complimentary beach towels and tucked it just above her breasts before she opened the door.

"The rain has completely stopped." It was also completely still. "It's over!" She turned and shone the light directly at him. "When do you think the power will come back on?" she asked, ignoring his carry on about the flashlight's beam in his eyes.

She took a couple of steps into the front of the bungalow and flashed around the light. Leaves and branches were strewn around the resort's previously manicured lawns. Several large palm fronds swam in the pool. A creek, where there shouldn't be a creek, rushed along the length of the parking area. Various other debris was scattered around, waiting for staff to come and pick up.

"It's very quiet," Niles noted. He was standing behind her, close. "Can't hear any of those things you whined about earlier in the week."

She'd been annoyed by so many things: the crickets that sung in a chorus, the odd birds that cried and gurgled all night, the bats that screeched and fought in among the palm trees, the frogs that croaked so loud the walls vibrated. He was right, these annoying Australian creatures were all noticeably mute.

"Maybe the storm run them off," she wondered.

"Or maybe-"

"What?" Swing around, frowning. "What?"

"This is the eye of the storm."

She gulped and listened again. It was eerily quiet. "I think you're right. What does that mean?"

"That after a short period, the wind and rain will start all over again. You have been in a hurricane before," he noted.

"Well, yes. But I can't remember such details."

"Alcohol was involved then too?" he supposed. Then, he was pulling her inside, slamming the front door shut with his foot and tugging the towel covering her loose simultaneously. "We have a couple of hours to kill…" His head dipped and he began suckling her nipple.

She should remain strong, she thought. His lips and tongue were quite magnificent though. But he was staff. She should aim so much higher. "We should go and check on Maxwell during the lull."

She flinched. Niles' teeth had nipped hard. Shoving him away, she shone the light on her breast. He'd formed a perfect love bite on the delicate skin, high enough that she would not be able to wear certain outfits for several days.

"You'll pay for that, little man."

"I don't mind if you want to act out your dominatrix fantasies sooner rather than later."

She huffed and flounced past him, heading for her room, where she could satisfyingly slam the door in his face.

"Will I find another condom among your things?" he was calling out. "Show you again how little I am?"

Damn, she hated him. In fact, she hated him so much she left the bedroom door open.

The End


End file.
